


if this is love, i know it’s true (i won’t forget you)

by capulets



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Actually Basically Background Everyone This Is A Full Jiara Ficlet, Background Sarah And John B, Before And After Season One, F/M, Idiots in Love, JJ And Kie’s Relationship In Snapshots, Some Fluff, Some angst, Song fic, Sorry About These Tags, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24568042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capulets/pseuds/capulets
Summary: kiara carrera doesn’t know when she falls in love with jj maybank. she just knows that she does, and there’s nothing she can do about it.or, alternatively, a look at jj and kie’s relationship in snapshots.
Relationships: Background Pope & John B & Kiara, JJ & Kiara (Outer Banks), JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 290





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was not intending to come out of my writing rut and get a whole Jiara thing going, but it just happened. I went through the entire tag and decided I needed some content, which is where this came from! I wrote this entire thing listening to Ruth B’s cover of the Frank Ocean song Forrest Gump, which I 10/10 recommend. This is literally an unedited stream of consciousness straight from my brain so I am so sorry for any typos or mistakes! I do tend to repeat phrases a lot so I apologize for that as well. This is basically just a filler for me as I wait for my favorite fics to get updated, but I hope y’all enjoy it too! Don’t be afraid to let me know what you think. This is also my first time writing for this fandom so rip me if it’s ooc I promise I actually tried for some semblance of accuracy. Anyways, since we’re all definitely going down with this ship, enjoy! 
> 
> XOXO,
> 
> capulets

_I wanna see your pom-poms from the stands_

_Come on, come on  
  
_

Kie never _intends_ on becoming a cheerleader — it just happens. Actually, a _lot_ of things just happen: Sarah Cameron showing up and taking her under her wing right when she needs it most, scrounging up excuses to tell the boys when she goes out for sleepovers and parties, staying longer and longer on Figure 8 until The Cut becomes more of a memory in her mind than an actual place she visits.

But the cheerleader thing — Sarah insists on it, proudly stating that her mom was a cheerleader back when she attended Kook Academy, and that Kie is gonna love it. There’s initial resistance, of course (“do you really think I’m gonna dress up in a tiny ass uniform and prance around like some fucking conformist Barbie doll? _Hell no._ ”). Like all things involving Sarah, it ends up being inevitable. 

Cheerleading doesn’t suit Kiara at all. She isn’t a ‘Rah Rah, Go Team!’ type of girl. However, she does like how good she looks in the uniform. She also enjoys Sarah’s enthusiasm about the whole thing, maybe more than she should. But then everything falls apart and she returns to where she’s known she belongs the whole time. Because yes, Sarah Cameron is magical. But her boys are _so_ much more than mere magic. 

After getting back, it’s difficult to reintegrate herself into all of their lives. John B forgives her first, pulling her in with his warm hug and happy smile and a soft, “Welcome back, Kie.” 

She almost cries.

Pope is next, and it takes a little more time. Their interactions are awkward, stilted, but with more time, they’re right back to where they started. She’s never been so glad to hear someone ramble on about dead bodies in her life. 

To be honest, Kiara is never sure JJ will forgive her. No matter how hard she tries to make things up, to talk it out with him, nothing works. He dodges her questions and advances, tossing snarky commentary as often as he tosses out jokes. 

“He’ll come around,” John B reassures her after a particularly nasty day, “He just needs time.”

Kiara tries to give it to him, she really does. In the end, she can’t handle it. 

“What the _fuck_ is your problem, JJ?” she snaps one night, eyes lit on fire. His eyebrows raise in the flickering light from the tiny bonfire they’d lit out at the Chateau. She can see John B and Pope exchange a glance out of the corner of her eyes, but she’s too fired up to care. 

“I’ve got lots of problems, Kie,” JJ shrugs, taking a sip from his beer and reclining as though she’d asked him how the waves were instead of called him out on his bullshit. She stands up, enraged, walking over to where he’s seated before she stands, towering over him. 

“Don’t. I’ve tried everything I can think of to get you to forgive me. And _I’m sorry,_ okay? I’m sorry! But you don’t have to keep acting like a fucking asswipe because you can’t get over it.”

“Oh fuck off,” JJ snaps back, standing up to meet her. 

“JJ,” John B warns, but Kiara barely hears him. She doesn’t shy away from her positioning, getting right up in his face as their interaction escalated. 

“Wouldn’t you love that? For me to just leave again?”

“Hey, Kie,” Pope interjects, another warning they both ignore as JJ cuts over him. 

“You’re going to anyway, aren’t you? You’re either a Kook or a Pogue, Kiara, and we all know what side you’re on. What side you _chose._ ”

“That’s not fair! They’re like fucking — I don’t know, rattlesnakes or some shit! They slither into your life and you can’t escape it.”

“Life isn’t _fucking_ fair! You did what you did, and now that you’re back just because you got dumped by some Kook doesn’t mean you’re just in again!”

Kiara flinches, recoiling as if he’d hit her. She knows he never would, even now. Even as they’re screaming at each other, she knows he isn’t going to put his hands on her. Still, his words hurt as much as a slap would’ve. He doesn’t know how close he’d gotten to the mark, but something in his eyes shifts. 

“Fuck you,” Kiara spits lowly, her own hands coming up to shove against his chest. He does nothing, and somehow that fires her up even more. She hates that he won’t fight her, that he’s taking this like he deserves it. Like he’s _used_ to it. Her hands shove again and she swears again, and it continues until she’s just shrieking at him.

“Why do you even care anyways?” She yells after John B pulls her off of him. She struggles still, raging against the cage of his arms. She wants to launch herself at JJ, make him feel like he made her feel. Because this isn’t about her fighting him anymore. It’s about him caring enough to fight her back. “Why do you even care?” She repeats, still screaming.

“Because you _left!_ You left John B and you left Pope and you left _me._ You left _all of us!_ ” 

All of the fight drains out of Kiara after that. It’s clear now, how deeply affected he was by her absence. And she’s cursing herself for not seeing it sooner. How she was his family, and how the boys weren’t complete without her and vice versa. It’s not easy for JJ to let people in, and she’s understood that since the day she met him. John B keeps a hold on her, steadying her as her knees buckle gently. She pushes his arms away and he lets her. Her feet carry her forwards until she’s a foot away from JJ. The look in his eyes is still angry, but despairing now. Full of pain. Pain that _she_ caused. 

(She doesn’t realize it until later, why he refused to make any moves against her. He held back _because_ he still cares. He cares enough not to hurt her, even when she’s ready to rip him to shreds.).

Kiara looks at him for a single second. In the next, her arms are crushing him against her in a hug. After a moment’s hesitation, JJ’s wrap around her. It’s bone crushing, but she’s way too relieved he’s hugging her back to even care. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, over and over and over again, tears leaking out of her eyes. She feels his body shake against hers and realizes he was crying a little too. 

“I’m here now. With you and Pope and John B. And I’m never going back to the Kooks again, okay? I promise.” 

They stay like that for quite some time, clutching onto each other like if either one of them lets go, the other will disappear. John B and Pope join in on the hug after Kiara slightly extends an arm out to them. The four of them stand next to the little fire, holding each other, no one saying a thing. That’s when Kiara knows it’s gonna be okay.

After that night, things return to normal. Not all at once, of course. It’s a process, easing JJ and Kiara into interactions. But when he starts teasing her about how her body changed from when she’d come back, she knows they’re all good. 

They don’t bring up her Kook Year, but she lets it slip one night that she had been a cheerleader after sticking a fancy flip off of the _HMS Pogue._

“God _damn,_ Kie,” JJ grins, impressed. It made her grin too. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

She hauls herself up and explains with some hesitance that she’d been roped into cheerleading. She keeps names out of it; it isn’t their business anyways. She looks towards JJ first, to see how he’ll react. She’s only half surprised when he starts howling before rattling off comment after comment with his trademark smirk.

“Do you know any _more_ tricks?”

“I bet you looked hot as fuck in that uniform.”

“I’ll give you ten bucks right now if you wear it tomorrow.” 

“Shut up, asshole,” she mumbles with no real bite, rolling her eyes as she shoves his shoulder over. 

(She finds scraps of newspapers tied together as makeshift pom poms the next morning at the Chateau. She promptly throws them out, but she didn’t miss the sparkle in JJ’s eyes when he caught her with them.)

_I know you, Forrest_

_I know you wouldn't hurt a beetle_

It is an irrefutable fact that where JJ Maybank goes, a fight usually follows. Kiara has never been able to figure it out, why he’s so prone to violence. Even after she returns, she can’t understand what it was that triggered his fuse. 

She sees the bruising underneath his shirt when he lifts it up to wipe sweat off of his face on a particularly hot day, and it all clicks into place.

“JJ,” she says, cautiously, trying to quell the murderous tide that wanted to erupt at seeing him like that. She would’ve done it for any of the guys, gotten mad and concerned. “What the hell happened?”

“Nothin’, Kie. I just bumped into the table and took a hard fall — you know how rough John B gets when we’re messing around.” His nonchalant shrug does nothing for her nerves. The pair is laying out in separate hammocks, but she goes over to his, sliding in opposite him with her legs crossed and a frown etched into her face. 

“That doesn’t look like nothing, JJ.” 

He doesn’t say anything, shaking his head and turning away from her. Once it becomes clear that she’ll get nowhere using this tactic, she huffs, stalking off into the house. She returns with a first aid kit, muttering and grumbling about how she has to do _every fucking thing herself._ JJ doesn’t say a word as she lifts up his shirt and tends to his injuries, which include a few scratches in addition to the bruising. She places floral printed band-aids on him just to spite, though a tiny smirk played on her lips. When she finishes and looks up, he’s looking at her. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, so she takes his hand and squeezes it, nodding. She sets the first aid kit down and leans back away from him, swinging in the hammock lightly. 

They talk for hours about anything but what had just happened.

—

Kiara know not to ask when JJ comes around the Chateau with bruises, or shows up to the _Pogue_ with a few nasty looking cuts on him. She just waits until they’re alone to help him get cleaned up and properly taken care of. Every time he thanks her, and every time she squeezes his hand. 

It’s a late night at The Wreck, and Kiara’s working the closing shift. After doing one final check over, she heads out, locking the door behind her. 

“Hey, Kiara,” a voice calls, and she freezes immediately. Rafe. Of _fucking_ course he has to show up here the one night she’s locking up. It’s no secret, his eerie fondness of her. She’s been wary of it ever since she first met him back at Sarah’s house. She didn’t miss him going out of his way to talk to her, didn’t miss him throwing salacious comments her way, didn’t miss his eyes roaming over her body like they are now. 

(He never talked to her like JJ did. JJ’s comments were always harmless, something to brush off, occasionally to throw something back at just to watch his eyes pop before shutting him down.) 

“You getting off for the night?” Rafe asks, and she turns around, her expression neutral. 

“Yeah. Heading straight home — my parents are waiting.” 

Her answer is curt, to the point. It’s also a lie, but she remembers from a self defense class she once took to let a potential attacker know that people were expecting her, and would be looking out for her if anything happened. Since she can’t pretend to be on the phone, this is gonna have to do.

“Why did you do it? Why did you leave?”

She wants to growl that she _can’t_ leave because he’s standing _right in front of her_ , blocking her from moving around him by moving with her instead. Every step she takes, he matches it. 

“None of your fucking business,” she snaps on reflex, before shrugging and offhandedly saying, “I just remembered who my real friends are.”

“What, those filthy Pogues?”

She steps left.

“Don’t, Rafe.”

So does he.

“You’re so much _better_ than them, Kiara.”

Right foot back.

“ _Shut up,_ Rafe.” 

His follows.

“What the fuck do you see in them anyway? John B’s a washout, Pope’s a little geek ass bitch and that blonde piece of shit JJ is gonna end up just like his dad —”

(Again, she doesn’t remember it until after. Her fist slamming into Rafe’s face, the pain that shot through it, blood spilling from her knuckles, the white hot rage boiling her from the inside out.)

She runs, sprinting as far away as she can get as fast as she can. Kiara isn’t a violent person. She does have a string of self control, though, and once that string is cut, there’s nothing she can do to stop it. Her mind is a blur as she makes her way through The Cut in the dark, crashing through backyards and roads in her haste to get to the safest place she knows. 

She bursts through the door, not giving a single shit about the way it slams. She expects John B to come rushing in, concern written all over his features. JJ sprints through instead. 

“Kie? What happened?” 

She almost wants to laugh at the fact that _he’s_ the one asking _her_ questions now, but she has no idea what will happen if she opens her mouth so she keeps it closed and shakes her head. He opens his arms and she launches herself into them, shaking uncontrollably. It’s really fucking stupid, she thinks, being so upset over something as insignificant as Rafe. But she is, that’s how it is. She feels his fingers work through her hair, threading into her locks as he holds onto her. She doesn’t know why it’s so comforting, why her trembling lessens with every touch. It just does. She’s too wound up to question it. 

When she’s ready, she releases him. He gives her a look, heading out before returning with the first aid kit. They sit down on the pullout couch and JJ reaches out for her hands.

“Can I?” 

She nods, and he takes them. His fingers skirt over her injuries and she winces. His gaze turns apologetic as he gathers his materials and begins to work on her.

“I know it’s your business and everything, but… what happened, Kie? Seriously.”

“I punched Rafe.”

JJ’s hands stop moving, and he almost drops hers.

“What the fuck did he do to you?”

His tone is dark and she’s heard it before. All the boys have different ways of comforting her when she’s upset. John B tells her it’ll all be good, and reminds her that she’s a full blown badass. Pope rambles a little bit, but his words are always kind and encouraging. He likes to remind her of how wonderful she is. JJ’s prone to threatening to kill anyone who dares to cross her, and he’s beat up a few people on behalf of all the Pogues. 

“JJ,” Kiara starts, noting the familiar expression of ‘I’m gonna fucking kill him’ come over his face.

“Did he put his hands on you? If he hurt you I swear to God —”

“Did you miss the part where _I_ punched _him?_ I can take care of myself.”

He growls, “I know that,” and his eyes are back on her hands now. She’s glad he’s letting it drop, and she’s well aware that it’s because he knows he’s gonna lose if he keeps arguing with her like this. 

She watches him, and the thought that she’s never known he’s capable of being this gentle rams into her like the fence she tanked through to get here. Every single touch is purposeful, and he makes sure not to press too firmly, though the tiny amounts of pressure he puts on are to make sure everything is getting to where it needs to be. He wraps up her knuckles with expert care, and she thinks that this is something he shouldn’t know how to do so well because he does it like it’s second nature, something from experience. She wants to say something, call him on it. Ask him, see what he’ll say. She doesn’t. She keeps her mouth shut and rolls her eyes when he sticks Spider-Man band-aids on top of the tape and gauze. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. He takes her hand and squeezes it, nodding. Kiara feels her other hand come up to cup his cheek, running her thumb over his skin. The staring that ensues is something she’s never gone through with him, or with anyone for that matter. Intense is a good word to describe it. Intense is a good word to describe JJ too, but not Kie. Not unless she’s going off about the environment and all the atrocities the Earth has suffered. Other than that, she’s cool. Chill. Vibing along to wherever the wind blew her and her friends. Not explosive. Yet, the way he’s looking at her makes her want to go up in flames. 

She shoves it down, clearing her throat and laying back on the pullout, pulling her hand from his. She closes her eyes, but she can hear him putting everything away. She only opens them back up when the creak of a ratty armchair enters the space between them. 

“Get over here.”

It’s not a request. 

“You know, I always knew you wanted to get me into bed,” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and slipping in beside her. That smirk paints his lips yet again. “How does it feel? Is it everything you wanted and more?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m living the dream,” she deadpans, moving a smidge closer to him. 

“Don’t fight it, Kie. I know you’re dying to rip my clothes off.”

“More like contemplating smothering you with a pillow to get you to shut up, but I guess in your mind that’s close enough.” 

He winks at her and she has to laugh. She falls asleep with a grin on her face, bandaged knuckles resting within inches of his scarred ones. 

_But you're so buff and so strong_

_I'm nervous, Forrest_

Look, Kiara is _very_ against sexualization. From celebrities in the media to in her own backyard (or rather John B’s backyard), she’s a firm believer in appreciating someone for more than just their body. As living, breathing organisms, people deserve to be recognized as such and treated with respect. All of this said, even she has her moments.

As the best female surfer on The Cut _and_ anywhere near Figure 8, it’s no surprise that she's at the beach. She’s got her board and her boys, everything she needs. The black bikini she’s chosen clings to her skin, but they’re all used to her new figure by now. She’s embraced the curves she has, because it’s her body and if she wants to wear a swimsuit that makes her feel confident and powerful, she sure as hell is gonna do it. 

“Whatcha thinkin’, JB?”

JJ’s voice slices through the soft crashing of the waves. 

“It looks like…” Whatever John B’s saying, it’s lost as Kiara’s eyes latch onto JJ’s figure. It’s sprinkling outside so droplets of water cling to his body, but he isn’t soaked yet. It’s just for a few seconds, but it feels like a lifetime before she tunes back in just as Pope remarks, “Let’s just hit the waves.” 

She’s the first to go, sprinting ahead and charging towards the water as though it will purge whatever unholy thoughts are trying to break through the wall in her mind. Not that Kie’s particularly holy herself, but still. 

She loses herself in the waves, surfing her ass off. The water swallows her a few times, but once she hits her stride, she’s laughing and howling and smiling along with the rest of them. 

Kiara makes the mistake of thinking she’s safe from what took her mind over earlier, so she strolls onto the beach beaming, a wild gleam in her eyes. She whirls, whooping, seeking out the boys to share her joy with. She finds a soaking wet JJ shaking himself out like a dog, and her energetic cheers dry up in her throat. 

Water is trickling over his chest now, covering the abs defined by mowing lawns and working around The Cut. He’s fucking chiseled, and if she wouldn’t have known him, she thinks she might’ve thought he was cut from a marble statue or some shit like that. 

‘Stop it.’

The next thing she notices is the shorts, also wet and sticking to him and she takes her gaze upwards as quickly as possible. This leaves his hair, the blonde pushed back by the water around his face. It’s slightly darkened, but it looks as soft as always, like it’s just begging to have fingers ran through it. Her fingers, maybe.

‘Fucking hell, Kie.’

His eyes are last. Blue, the color of the sky in the morning when you know it’s gonna be a good day to surf. Like today. She’s seen those eyes darken and lighten, resemble anything from the night sky to the ocean mere meters in front of them. It’s cliche as hell to think of them as pools that someone could drown in, and she doesn’t. To her, his eyes are their own universes. Places where the sky meets the water and everything is blue but that’s okay because it’s _him_ and his blue isn’t _just blue._ It’s shades of secrets, bruises hidden underneath shirts, purpling hickies and indigo skylines against the backdrop of his smoke. It’s midnights and beer caps and tears and summers of everything under the sun. It’s JJ, and the universe. All encompassing.

‘A grip. Get one.’ 

Blue meets brown and Kiara swears she can feel her cheeks burn underneath his gaze.

“See something you like?” he calls out, because he’s an asshole. 

“As if,” she retorts, and she’s forced to listen to him tease her all while they pile into the van and strap their boards to the top with Pope and John B. 

(Later, she’ll think back and frown. She’ll wonder if she saw his eyes ghost over her figure when she was standing on the shore, lost in thought. If he kept his gaze on her even after she looked away. If she’s just making all of this up and imagining the whole thing. Or if she’s not. She hopes she’s not. And then, she hopes she is.)

_I saw your game, Forrest_

_I was screaming, "Run forty-four!"_

It’s senior year, and the Pogues are doing better than ever. They’ve got the gold, everything’s good with Sarah again, and they can finally just be dumbass high school students again. Part of that means going to a football game. Shockingly, Kiara’s the one who suggests it. One final ‘fuck you’ to the Kooks by invading their territory and actually having a decent time. Sarah’s onboard immediately, and they share conspiratorial smiles. It’s just like old times. The only exception is that when Kie looks at her, her heart doesn’t jump into her throat. She’s platonic now, and it’s nice to have a girlfriend in the midst of all the testerone. She doesn’t worry about the what-ifs or what-could-have-beens now. She’s done with that. If the search for the gold taught her anything, it’s that she doesn’t want to look back on her life not having actually lived it like she wants to. It’s a fact she’s had in her head since her return to the Pogues, but one compounded by almost losing her life and her friends almost losing theirs time and time again. 

John B agrees because he’s whipped for Sarah, and she’s glad he signs on quickly. She still shares a look with JJ and fake retches with him and Pope in front of them, though. Speaking of, she manages to convince the former by telling him he can practice working with statistics and data analysis by tracking players and points and such. 

JJ’s harder to convince, but at the mention of cheerleaders, he perks up. Something in his twisted grin tells her he’s remembering that conversation from a few years ago, back when they were sixteen. With a little more griping and the promise of, “dank nugs and the _stickiest_ of ickies,” he’s in too. 

That’s how they end up sneaking into the game, hanging around near the edge of the bleachers, in the shadows. John B and Sarah giggle to each other, pressing kisses against cheeks and noses and lips. Pope is actually invested in the game for the sake of statistics, which leaves Kiara and JJ. 

He’s already got a blunt rolled and poised between his lips when she turns to see what he’s doing. She steps over after he lights it, smirking a bit as she reaches up, plucking it from his lips and placing it in between her own. She inhales and endures his miniature glare and his elbow nudging her ribs with a little laugh. Smoke pours out of her mouth as he takes the blunt back. When he exhales, it goes straight to her face. She raises an eyebrow and steals the blunt again, taking his actions and turning them onto him. They started fairly close, but now she can see the color of his eyes is a strong, piercing, probing blue. Like the light from a lighthouse, searching in the night for something. 

Kiara doesn’t know what compels her to put her hands onto his shoulders. His eyes widen a little, eyebrows raising, but his hands settle on her waist. She pushes away the thoughts that tell her he’s done this before, many times over. The only thing Kie’s allowing to run through her brain is that she’s never done _this_ before. She leans forward, capturing the blunt between her lips. Neither of them move after she gently tugs it out of his mouth and into her own. JJ’s lips are still parted as her hand comes up. She leans an inch closer because she can’t help herself. His eyes move too fast for her to decipher the look inside of them, but it doesn’t matter. She blows smoke into his face as his hands twitch on her waist, a seemingly involuntary squeeze coming up. She puts what’s left of the blunt into his hand and heads over to Pope, smiling like an idiot at the barely-there sigh of, “Fuck,” that leaves JJ’s mouth.

(They’re both high when he joins her — “Kie! Kie!” — hugging her from behind because she mentioned she was cold and this is apparently the only way he can think to warm her up. He’s laughing into her ear about some joke that isn’t even funny. She laughs too, leaning back to get closer, to feel more of the rumble in his chest. It’s times like this that make her want more than she has. Stupidly, she resolves to get it.)

_But you kept running past the end zone_

_Oh, where'd you go, Forrest?_

From the football game, they go to the Boneyard because some Kook has the brilliant idea to host a kegger instead of having a house party celebration. And okay, maybe that Kook was Sarah yelling out through the crowd in a warble-y disguised voice that they should have a kegger and mob mentality taking over and everybody else agreeing, but now they’ve got to get everything set up. So the Pogues head out and do just that. Most of the people that show up are already somewhat smashed anyways, so less eyebrows than usual are raised at the five who start handing out drinks before getting into the party themselves. 

JB and Sarah go off on their own pretty quickly. Pope filters out next, and it makes a dopey smile come over Kiara’s face to see him talking with a pretty girl. She’s probably a Touron who’s on break from school or something, but it doesn’t even matter. Pope’s content, so Kie’s good. She remembers talking everything out with him after they kissed, coming to the realization that it was more from a place of both of them being there than actually wanting each other. Kiara’s aware of the thing the boys used to carry for her, but she’s done her best to respectfully shoot them down and make her intentions clear. She gave Pope some space after everything, and it ended up fine. 

JJ’s disappeared, chatting up another pretty Touron, no doubt. She can just picture him with a beer in his hand, lips flashing close to some girl’s ear, hands tracing along her thigh, body leaning into hers. Kiara downs her drink, chugging it and discarding it before going off to dance. 

She makes the usual rounds, drawing Sarah and John B into her circle before spinning off to Pope. He entertains her for a bit before going and finding the girl he was talking to earlier. Kiara’s vaguely impressed when she spots them walking away hand in hand a few moments later. That leaves JJ, and despite the fact that she’s not a cockblock type, she shimies right on over to him.

“Come dance with me,” Kie whines playfully, a pout tilting forward on her lips. She’s intoxicated, and it bleeds through in the slightly more flirtatious set of her lips. The Touron girl eyes her before batting her eyelashes at JJ and linking their hands together. The man in question merely sets his drink down and frees up his hand, rising. Kiara takes it giddily, putting it in hers and noting smugly that he doesn’t look back once. She pulls him to her immediately, her back pressing against his chest as his hands grip her hips. They move together, just grinning and singing along. It isn’t until Kiara’s hips dip back against JJ that his grip tightens on her waist.

She takes it further, moving more and within seconds they’re shamelessly grinding on each other. The movements are still rhythmic, but more frenzied. It’s almost animalistic in the sense that she _needs_ this, needs _him._ And he seems to need her right back. 

His lips end up by her ear, and she can’t explain what it is about feeling how fast his heart is beating and how shallow his breathing is that makes her want to kiss him. She shouldn’t want to kiss him. It’s definitely the substances in her system, but she can’t be bothered to give a single fuck as she tilts her head up and presses her lips to his. He’s frozen for a split second, but once that’s over, he’s pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. His tongue ends up in her mouth, soliciting a groan from her. She can feel him smirking, but her focus is completely caught up on macking his face off. Her hand rests against the side of his neck as his arm curves fully around her waist and she kisses him to the best of her ability in her current state. It’s sloppier than she is when she’s sober, rushed and frantic, but she doesn’t know how much time she has left so she’s determined to make every second count.

Her time is up a minute and a half later. JJ’s mumbling, “Shit,” underneath his breath and staggering away from her, shaking his head. 

“No Pogue on Pogue macking, Kie.”

His reminder is soft, fracturing at the edges.

“I know.”

Her response is unapologetic. 

“It’s the rules.”

He’s frustrated, maybe even confused or angry, but not entirely at her. That much her addled brain can tell. The same addled brain empowers her, emboldens her enough to stride up to him and say, “Fuck the rules.” 

Her face hovers in front of his, arms wound around his neck now. He just stares at her, and she wonders what the look in his eyes is. Hers flutter shut as she attempts to step forward and his arms lock around her. Next he’s scooping her up, holding her close to his chest as he stumbles around (presumably to find John B).

She doesn’t remember how she got to the pullout but when she wakes up with a pounding headache, limbs tangled with JJ’s, she assumes she’s fucked. 

(Figuratively, that is. It all comes back to her throughout the day, the messy kiss and slurred proclamation. She feels ashamed, but all JJ does is hand her a piece of burnt toast as a peace offering after she cooks breakfast for the boys. She takes it, and that’s the end of that. For now.)

_My fingertips and my lips_

_They burn from the cigarettes_

  
It’s been months since the kiss, and Kiara _still_ can’t get it out of her mind. No amount of working or surfing or just hanging out does anything to help her. And it’s weird, with JJ. It’s weird to her that they act normal. That he teases her same as ever. That he flirts with her like he always has. That he’s acting like they didn’t make out and she didn’t tell him she didn’t give a shit about the rules _she_ put in place to preserve all of their friendships. It’s not that she’s not grateful for it, she just thinks it’s really fucking weird. And she knows it can’t last forever, which is why she’s almost relieved when she catches him alone.

It’s summer now, and the gang has left for college. There wasn’t a dry eye amongst any of them as Pope, John B, and Sarah departed. Kiara’s plan is to do what she’d always wanted, go see what was outside the OBX before making that double album and advocating for the environment all over the world. She has no idea what JJ’s gonna do, aside from stay here and hopefully get a job as a mechanic somewhere. She wants to keep him away from his dad for as long as possible. He hasn’t come around with too many bruises anymore, but the scars from some of the more serious outbursts stay. 

She’s eyeing one absently now, laying in the hammock with him. Their hands are inches apart, and his eyes are closed. She nudges her fingers closer slowly, not even daring to breathe as she does so. 

One inch. Then two. 

Exhaling, her head tilts away from its resting place on her shoulder to being angled towards the sky. 

(She’s acting like a fucking teenager again, but she can’t help it. She technically is one, and so is he — eighteen. Legally adults but still caught up in adolescent bullshit.) 

Concentrating on the view in front of her takes her away from her mind. She can see the North Star shining and she squints, trying to take it in further. She misses the first inch the hand beside her moves. 

She doesn’t miss the second. 

The silence is routine as their hands simultaneously meet, palms kissing but fingers stalled. Kiara’s move first, edging their way between JJ’s. It’s as playful as they are and just her fingertips, but this doesn’t feel like any of their usual games. It’s weighted, like everything has been since the kiss. Maybe even before it, if she’s willing to go back and look. Which she’s not. Not right now. Not like _this._

JJ’s fingertips match hers, brushing against hers and tangling themselves up before disengaging. He runs them down the rivets in her palm, across the lines. He traces her wrist lightly, and at this point she has to look at him. Their eyes meet as her fingers fully interlock with his, and she can tell JJ’s struggling with something.

“What is it?” she asks, at the same time he says, “We can’t keep doing this, Kie.”

“Doing what? What are we doing?” Kiara questions, and he holds up their intertwined hands like they’re proof. 

_“This,”_ he murmurs, the urgency in his tone matched only by the speed at which his words pour out, “This. We can’t keep grinding at the Boneyard, or touching on each other because I’m gonna lose my fucking mind thinking it means something different than it does.”

That catches her attention and she sits up a bit. The fact that they’re both sober right now and he’s saying all this is a small miracle, one she won’t be taking for granted. 

“What are you talking about?” She whispers it like she’s afraid of the answer. His laugh bites, harsh and bitter and definitely frustrated, just like he was on that night.

“Fuck, Kie. Everything. All the hugging and holding hands and shit — I can’t take it anymore because I’m so fucking in love with you in this stupidly pathetic way — ”

He’s cut off by her lips slamming against his. He kisses her back for a moment before shaking his head a bit.

“No Pogue on Pogue macking. Those are the rules,” he tells her, and it’s an echo from that night. 

“Fuck the rules,” Kiara whispers, and there’s no slur to hide behind now. All signals are clear on both ends, and this time, it’s her turn to speak. 

“I’m in love with you too.”

JJ’s eyes (which had migrated from her face to the most interesting piece of ratty fabric on the hammock) snap up.

“What?”

“I’m in love with you, JJ. So I don’t give a fuck about that rule because it’s dumb as hell anyways and nobody even follows it anyways — ”

His lips cut her off, and she’s happy to shut up. She shifts on top of him as he deepens the kiss, straddling him in the hammock. His hands fit against her hips and she kisses him harder as he squeezes down on her. He rolls his hips up against hers and she moans involuntarily. He smirks up into her lips, but when her hands start roaming through the blonde locks she’s waited so long to mess up, the tables turn. 

She’s smirking and he’s moaning, but all of it gets swallowed up in this kiss. Just as she feels his lips detach from hers for air, she moves her weight too far over to one side. They’re pitched out of the hammock, and they’re laughing their heads off. 

JJ’s elbows keep his weight off of Kiara, hovering over her. Their laughter fizzles out as they gaze at each other. JJ’s fingers come up, and he traces the column of her throat, her jawline, her cheek, and runs his thumb along her bottom lip. Her breath hitches, and she’s pretty sure she stops breathing.

“Take me inside,” Kiara murmurs, and he doesn’t need to be told twice. They end up on the pullout, lips clashing and moving together. 

She tugs on his shirt and it’s off within seconds. She doesn’t give him time to rattle off some witty commentary, recapturing his lips with hers in an instant. He stops as he’s about to remove her shirt, and she nods. It comes off, and the rest of their clothing is removed in rapid succession. 

She’s never seen anyone look at her the way he’s looking at her right now. Like she’s some goddess and he’s about to worship her as she deserves to be worshiped. Like she’s a divine gift. Like she’s his salvation. She doesn’t even know if he believes in a higher power until it hits her that maybe _she_ is the higher power he believes in. 

“You are so fucking beautiful, Kiara.”

The words are unexpected, but not unwelcome. She pulls him down to kiss her, and he does. His lips move onto her neck and she bites down on hers, her hands curling into his hair again. 

“Are you sure?” JJ asks, pulling his head up and locking eyes with her. 

“I’m sure,” Kiara affirms, placing her forehead against his and skimming his nose with her own. “I want this. I want you.”

Those last three words, _I want you,_ send him over the edge. He checks in with her the whole time, making sure she’s okay before he introduces her body to his rings. Her back arches when his head moves between her legs, but even that sensation is nothing compared to when they come together. There’s a condom and some adjusting involved, but she finds out quickly that he fits perfectly with her. They move together and he’s talking a lot, telling her how perfect she is, how beautiful she is, how much he loves her. One of her hands winds together with his and doesn’t let go the entire time. 

When it ends, they’re as close as they can possibly be. She can’t tell where she ends and he begins and she doesn’t even want to know. He’s waiting for her when she returns from the bathroom, wearing his t-shirt and her underwear. He lights up when he sees her wearing it, and she shrugs.

“It looks better on me, I know.” 

He’s in boxers and pulling her down against him, re-tangling them up and pressing a kiss to her forehead with a content, “Yeah, it does.” She swears neither of them have ever fallen asleep faster. 

_You run my mind, boy_

_Running on my mind, boy_   
  


If Kiara thought it was bad after they kissed, it’s definitely worse now that they’ve slept together. He’s on her mind far more than is absolutely necessary. It’s disgustingly cliche, how lovestruck she feels (or is it love drunk? Probably both. Definitely both.), and she can’t do a thing about it. 

From this point on, she’s usually around him. With everyone else gone, they’re the only two people they have left. This translates to more surfing, impromptu picnic dates in the _Pogue_ , and lots of sex. It’s about spending as much time as they can being together. Kie knows he thinks about her just as much as she thinks about him, which is the only reason she’s not self conscious about it. They still roast on each other, don’t let each other get away with shit. But now she wears more of JJ’s clothes as opposed to a decently even mix of the three boys. And he’s got another bracelet to add to his collection that she made just for him. 

It’s not perfect, because this isn’t a fairytale or some romantic comedy. It’s Kiara’s life, and their relationship. That means that it doesn’t have to be perfect. 

It just has to be theirs. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t plan on adding a part two to this, but y’alls commentary on part one was so sweet that I really wanted to give you some content as a thank you for all the support and enthusiasm! This is shorter than the other part, and I apologize for that. It’s also unedited, mainly because of my tendency to get everything out and upload it lol ❤️ Potential trigger warning as there is a stronger mention of abuse in the beginning of this chapter! It isn’t over the top, but please read cautiously 💞 Different-ish formatting because this is more a regular oneshot than a songfic! Also JJ can have some POV, as a great. This boy is as hard to write for as everyone says, so shoutout to everyone doing his perspective for fics and such! I tried to be as accurate as I possibly could. This is basically an angst fest 🤷🏾♀️ This idea came into my head fully formed like Athena so there’s that 😂 If I had to add a song, it would be Afterlife by Hailee Steinfeld. Again, sorry about any repeating of phrases and words, and any potential inaccuracies. Also, thank you for reading this! I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> XOXO,
> 
> capulets

JJ’s always had a problem with people leaving him. It’s the reason he only has three people he trusts with his life, the reason he’s left so many pretty Tourons behind after one night, the reason he was so fucking pissed when Kiara went back to being a Kook. It’s also the reason he’s got a problem leaving _other_ people. 

Just _seeing_ his dad walking around earlier in the day is enough nightmare fuel to induce one. They’d locked eyes in the middle of the store (he’d ran out to get some tampons for Kie because she was moaning about how much of a _bitch_ cramps were and since he didn’t have the pleasure of experiencing them the _least he could do_ was refill her dwindling supply of feminine products) and he swore his heart stopped beating until their gazes parted. His hands shook all the way home and he’d given Kiara her tampons before stalking off to go work on the _HMS Pogue_ a bit. 

For all his messing around and doing reckless shit, JJ’s actually decently intelligent. Pope and Kiara are known for being the brains of the group, but JJ just processes information in a different way than them. He might not be able to recall how to calculate the area of a triangle, but he’ll rattle off facts rapid fire about boats like the _Phantom_ , or any of the fancy ones the Kooks own. It’s why he’s so good with engines and motors; those are the things that actually interest him, not books he’ll never read again or equations that don’t make any sense.

He works the rest of the day, and when he returns there’s a burger and fries waiting for him. Kiara doesn’t ask about what happened earlier; he knows she knows by now that he’ll tell her if he wants to, or needs to. Two very different things in JJ’s world, but when they align, a larger explosion usually comes stumbling after. 

Since everyone else is still away, he and Kie have taken over the Chateau. He can’t lie and say he doesn’t like that she spends even more time here than at her own house, but that’s because he loves having her around. He knows how hard it is with her parents and he respects her wishes to be around them too, occasionally. It’s just more fun with Kiara. They’re still best friends, close as ever, and every day is a new adventure. 

‘And that’s enough sappy shit for one night. Fuck, I’m starting to sound like John B.’

Climbing into bed with her shouldn’t be this easy. Pulling her into his arms for the night shouldn’t be this easy. But it is. It is. So, really, he isn’t too shocked when something comes barreling through to fuck it all up.

He’s restless, tossing and turning so much that Kie shifts away from him a little bit. He’s like the tide, a roiling mass of pent up energy just waiting to crash into something. 

The nightmare starts out how they normally do: with his dad. Luke Maybank is sitting in the kitchen, drinking a beer. JJ is hiding out in his room, but the window’s stuck closed so he can’t get out that way. The only other option is to hope his father is too inebriated to notice his presence and try to slip past him. 

JJ’s learned to be light on his feet and with his body, so when he opens the door, it barely squeaks. He still flinches, head whipping from side to side, all around to check for any potential threats coming at him. His heartbeat doesn’t calm down as he inches forward, hand against the wall. His feet bounce from spot to spot quickly; part of the reason he’s so good at dancing is because he’s found a rhythm in walking along the floorboards that _don’t_ creak, which are few and far between. He can dance around conversations, classes, hop from topic to topic, girl to girl, step to step because he’s done it all his life. He’s always moving around someone or something. And right now, it’s these goddamn floorboards. 

He’s a quarter of the way out when he starts to relax. Creeping down the hallway, his father comes into view. Every time he tips the bottle back, JJ closes his eyes and picks something to look at. It’s a game he likes to play when everything gets a little too real, a form of distraction. His level of focus isn’t always the best, so locking onto a different object every time helps keep him in the moment. 

A sip.

‘King of clubs on the floor. Corner’s dented.’

Another. 

‘Yellow picture frame on the wall. Glass is still shattered from my head.’ 

Another.

‘Mom’s favorite vase.’

That thought is a reflex, but it doesn’t hit him like any other object would. He feels his lip to start to wobble and he bites down harshly on it, telling himself to breathe and keep going. Only he’s so caught up in calming down that he doesn’t realize his foot hits a squeaky panel until it’s too late. 

‘Shit, shit, shit, shit.’ 

Forgoing all illusions of stealth now, JJ breaks out into a full blown sprint. And he almost makes it to the door, too.

Almost. 

The moment he’s yanked back by his shirt, he knows it’s all over. The screaming starts as soon as the blows do, and he’s just taking them, arms coming up to shield his face. But there’s another sound, something dimly registering in the back of his mind. He knows he’s yelling out, whimpering, and in an almost blinding state of panic. 

“JJ?”

A hand settles on his shoulder and he grabs it, flipping over and pinning its owner down. There’s more yelling (“Whoa, hey, JJ! J! Wake up, this is a nightmare, you’re having a nightmare, it’s me, it’s—”), but it’s softer now, pleading and caring and nothing at all like what his dad says. 

It hits JJ at that exact moment that it’s _not_ his dad who’s under him now — it’s Kiara. It’s Kiara, it’s _Kiara, it’s Kiara._

 _“Kie!”_ he gasps out, eyes flying open, clear as day. His run down every inch of her that he can see, checking for bruises immediately. The thought that he could’ve hurt her makes him want to throw up, but it’s a valid thought nonetheless. Her hands are cupping his face now and she’s nodding at him. He can see her scanning his face, his eyes, and all he can see in hers is fear. And that’s what breaks him.

(Later, when he wakes up again in the middle of the night, he’ll realize she isn’t afraid _of_ him, but _for_ him. She’s afraid of the demons that plague him night after night, of everything he’s endured. Not of him. Never of him.) 

The tears flow freely now, but instead of pushing him away, Kiara pulls him down on top of her fully, holding him tightly against her body. His head is nestled right underneath her collarbones and above her chest, and he breathes her in. Kie always smells organic, like the outside. Clean, but not in the sterilized Kook way. In the all natural, straight-from-the-earth, fuck-a-rich-perfume, kind of way. It’s one hundred percent Kiara, and it comforts him in the same way that being at the Chateau comforts him. It’s home and she’s home and there is nowhere else and no one else that makes him feel like _this._ Like this is exactly where he’s supposed to be. She’s whispering to him, telling him that everything’s okay, that he’s safe.

“Did I — ?” 

‘Hurt you?’

“No,” Kiara tells him, her fingers running through his hair, and he can picture her head shaking from side to side softly, “You didn’t.”

 _You never could_ goes unsaid, but he knows it’s there. 

“Kie?” JJ asks, the sound muffled due to his face being pressed against the thin material of her tank top. His arms have encircled her waist, and neither of them loosen their grip on the other. 

“I’m right here,” Kiara murmurs, “I’m right here.” 

Eventually he stops shaking, and they both go back to sleep. But in this moment, in _this_ moment, he lets himself be right here too. He lets himself believe that she’s really going to stay. 

—

Okay, so, maybe a quickie isn’t the _smartest_ idea he’s ever had, but JJ’s positive it’s the _best_ idea he’s ever had. Plus, sex relieves stress and after last night, he definitely deserves a more relaxed mindset. Kie feels better than any unnatural high anyways. 

He’s holding her against the wall and they’re both sweaty, foreheads pressed together. His fingers are digging into her hips and her nails are scratching the hell out of his back, which only encourages him more. 

They’re as close as possible and it’s still not close enough for either of that, but the moment they’re sharing carries them more than the actual positioning. JJ figures it’s pretty good (see: absolutely fucking amazing) positioning, but still. 

If he would’ve been with anyone else, he would’ve stopped at the shout of, “What the fuck?” But isn’t just anyone. This is Kiara _fucking_ Carrera, and there is _no way_ he’s going to quit moving when she’s looking like this unless she asks him to. She doesn’t — he isn’t even sure she _heard_ anything else except the two of them until it’s over and she’s muttering, “Shit,” as she’s pulling on her shorts and he’s already anticipating an earful from her _and_ from Pope. He’s been recognizing the voices of his friends since middle school (and before then in the case of John B) and that was undoubtedly Pope. Which makes the whole situation worse. The three Pogues who departed for college were set to come back an hour earlier, but they’re apparently here now. It’s a miracle that just Pope caught them.

‘Fuck.’

JJ walks into the Chateau, grabbing his stash and rolling up a blunt before going out onto the porch and sitting down. Sarah and John B are out there and they wave, grinning. She’s settled comfortably next to him, leaning in. Pope is leaning against the side of the porch, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Kiara comes out as JJ’s lighting up, and his gaze flickers to her unbidden. It’s second nature, to see how she’s doing. She’s still sweaty, a little flushed. He smirks at the light in her eyes, despite the fact that she’s also avoiding eye contact with everyone.

“So is someone gonna tell us what’s going on or am I gonna have to start guessing?” Sarah asks, a few seconds into the silence. No one breathes a word at first, but John B sighs and nods slowly.

“No secrets between Pogues, guys, remember?” 

He and Pope share a look, opening their mouths at the same time, but it’s Kiara who says, “Me and JJ are a thing now.” 

Sarah squeals, beaming at the pair and proclaiming, “I knew it! I _knew it.”_

And then there’s John B, blinking in shock for a few seconds and looking between the two before smiling widely and playfully applauding them.

“Wow. Uh, nice you guys. I guess the ‘no Pogue on Pogue macking’ rule isn’t a thing anymore?”

Kiara rolls her eyes, reaching out and shoving his shoulder jokingly, mumbling, “Not like anybody followed that rule anyways,” at him with a tiny smile. 

“Pope?” JJ asks, turning to face him seeing as he’s been silent. JJ exhales, walking up to him and tapping his fingers against his legs. It’s a nervous tic he has. While he’s always moving, his energy increases tenfold with nerves. The high hasn’t hit him yet either, which isn’t helping anything.

“You cool with this, man?”

Nobody on the porch says anything, and Kiara comes up to stand close to JJ. Not directly next to him, but a little behind. Her fingers thread together with his and he squeezes them, hard. She squeezes back, and Pope’s eyes follow the movement. Slowly, he’s nodding, observing the both of them as they stand before him.

“Yeah,” Pope says at last, a small smile coming up to his face, “Yeah, I’m cool. Just don’t mack in front of me ever again. Or anything else.”

“Was there something else? What else happened?” Sarah questions, quirking you her eyebrows and burning a whole into Kie’s back. 

“Oh, you mean when we were outside and Kie was mo — ”

“I’ll tell you later, Sarah!” Kiara interjects loudly, punching JJ in the arm as he laughs, pecking her lips afterwards. John B mouths, ‘Me too’ with wide eyes and an impressed grin, and JJ’s smile grows.

“Hey, hey, what did I just say?” Pope calls out, jokingly shaming the pair after their little display of affection. 

“Sorry, Pope,” Kiara chuckles, and that’s the end of that conversation. They grab beers and spend the rest of the day catching up, chatting like it’s old times again. This is another one of JJ’s homes, all of these people. They’ve earned their place in his life. Because no matter how far away they go, they always come back. Maybe that’s what makes it easier for him to believe Kie will stay. Not in the Outer Banks, but with him. Sitting by his side, howling with laughter as the group recounts the harrowing tales from their search for the gold (and a little beyond), JJ can see a life like this. Not a Happily Ever After, because that’s some bullshit. But he’s deciding right here and now he’s cool with an After. Not always happy or picturesque, but his and Kie’s and the Pogues. Whatever happens, they’ll figure it out. 

They always do. 

—

The After JJ lets himself dream about includes a lot of things, and about three of them are happening currently. He’s out on the _Pogue_ with Kie, sharing a blunt with a few sandwiches she snuck from The Wreck. She’s got enough money to never have to work again, they all do. And yet, she’s there, working alongside her dad to help him out. JJ wishes (not for the first time) that Big John is still alive. He wants those interactions back, fishing with him and John B, running around with them, hanging out in the hammocks and listening to the stories he’d tell them about the Royal Merchant. He allows his mind to wander as the boat floats through the marsh. Kie’s head is on his shoulder and she’s munching on chips. With his arm slung over her shoulders and a beer in his hand, he’s positive life can’t possibly get any better than this. 

“Do you remember when I told everybody we were a thing?”

He has to smile when she says it. That’s Kiara, going after what she wants with no hesitation. 

“I remember you punching me in the arm for trying to answer a question.”

“ _Yeah,_ a question about how Pope discovered our relationship.”

“Hey, there is nothing wrong with a good quickie, Kie! Some say quickies are the foundation of a healthy relationship.”

“Really? Who says that, JJ, who?”

He merely smirks her way so she puts her face into the crook of his neck and laughs, calling him a dumbass before kissing his shoulder. They ride around for a bit more before Kiara gets up, shooting him a cheeky smile before diving into the water. He jumps in after her, splashing water after barely landing a killer flip onto a cannon ball. She retaliates by splashing water his way, and they’re having an all out splash war within seconds. He’s so caught up in their water battle that he doesn’t see the Kook boat going way too fast, way too close to them. 

Kiara doesn’t either.

Everything happens between heartbeats now.

Kie’s scream slicing through the air between them.

The Kooks speeding away after cursing up a storm, doing the usual Kook thing and pretending they didn’t see a thing. 

Blood painting the water red, drowning them both in it. So much fucking blood that he’s wondering how much is actually left in her body. 

JJ’s swimming over and taking her into his arms, getting her into the boat and pressing the shirt he discarded an hour into the ride against the wound on her head that’s bleeding profusely.

“Fuck, Kie, hold on, okay? Everything’s gonna be fine.” 

He’s pretty much choking on the words. They’re suffocating him, _this_ is suffocating him. It would be the same for any of his friends, and the mere idea of anyone else he loves being in this situation has him searching for a way to fix this. Scrabbling across the bow, his hand grabs a hold of his phone. He unlocks it after two tries, Kiara’s shallow breathing the only thing keeping him from freezing up in panic. He hasn’t let go of her hand once.

“JJ?” a sleepy Pope mumbles.

“Pope! Pope, it’s bad, it’s really bad, she’s fucking bleeding everywhere, this is a lot of fucking blood, _holy_ _shit_ this is a lot of blood, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit — ”

“JJ!” Pope yells into the phone, and he can picture his friend putting his hands onto his shoulders and staring at him to get him to listen. The image combined with the shouting shuts him up.

“What happened?”

Those two words are painfully slow, but JJ forces himself to say, “It’s Kiara. We were out in the _Pogue_ and we were swimming and out of nowhere these fucking Kooks roll up and they didn’t even fucking see us and now she’s laying down and she’s _still bleeding fuck —_ ”

Pope says his name again and he’s back into the conversation. He manages to explain that _yes,_ he put something against Kiara’s head to try and slow down the bleeding. And _yes,_ she’s got a head wound, but also a few scratches. _No,_ he hasn’t started moving yet. 

“Kie?” JJ whispers, and he sees her gaze latch onto his. She looks really fucking scared, but he can’t let that scare him too.

“I have to take us back to the dock now, okay? So we can get you help. I’m gonna be right at the controls the whole time, I promise.” 

“Okay,” she breathes, coughing, but squeezing his hand nonetheless. It nearly kills him, tearing his hand away from hers. And it’s less of tear, more of him unwinding their fingers one by one and brushing their fingertips together before practically leaping over to the controls and steering the boat back out to the dock. From there, Kiara’s taken away by an ambulance (in all of his panicking, he forgot to call one. Thankfully, Pope covered it all.). 

JJ almost does it. He almost goes back to the Chateau to get his gun and hunt down those idiots who are probably drinking champagne on Figure 8 and not even thinking about how they could’ve killed his — 

This is not the time to be having the ‘What are we?’ talk with himself, especially since it’s a two way street. Nevertheless, the term shows up in his mind. And to be honest, it’s the sole reason he jets off to the hospital instead.

—

JJ stays there all night. His affinity for acting like a goddamn Oscar winner gets him in. Some lady buys into his lies, even comes to tears herself when he starts to tear up. He’s at her bedside in a flash, interlocking their fingers. Her head is bandaged, the cuts on her arms and legs too, and she seems to be out cold. After a little snooping, he finds out the speed from the boat tossed her, and she hit her head on a large rock jutting up from the marsh. The cuts are from colliding with it after the hit. That swell of anger reappears, coursing through his veins. He focuses on Kie, on how she wouldn’t want him to go pick a fight even though that’s all he wants to do right now. Since he refuses to go anywhere, and he’ll be here for awhile, he does something totally stupid.

He talks.

“Uh, hey, Kie. This is _not_ how this night was supposed to go. It was supposed to be us and the boat and the water, just fucking around and not worrying about shit for once. It was supposed to be you calling me a dumbass again over some stupid shit I said, but more than just the one time it happened. It was supposed to be me not acting like a pussy and calling you my girlfriend, because that’s what I want, if you want that. Our no labels thing was pretty cool and I’m still down — I’m down for whatever the hell you want — but you have to be around for that to happen. John B and Pope and Sarah are going back. My mom split and you know my dad. So really, you’re… you’re all I have. And you said you would stay so _stay, Kiara._ Stay with me.”

One second passes. Then another. And another. JJ’s spoken his piece, with as much emotion as he did when it all came tumbling out in that hot tub back when they weren’t rich and life was less than ideal. In the same way, too. He crumbled saying it, held onto Kiara tighter, put everything he was feeling into what he said. The light squeeze on his hand is his only warning before he hears the raspy promise she gave him when he needed her.

“I’m right here.” 

JJ’s not a crier, and neither is Kie, but the relief that sweeps over them comes with a little bit of waterworks. They don’t care. 

“I love you,” he says, after he’s kissed her hands and her lips.

“I love you,” she echoes, and that’s all he needs to hear until, “and I’ll be your girlfriend, dumbass.”

He gets so caught up in kissing her that he forgets about all of her injuries momentarily. Naturally he backs off when she winces, but they’re both smiling afterwards. It’s a snapshot at the After, and it’s enough for now.

—

Kie recovers quickly. It’s incredibly lucky that she wasn’t hurt further, but JJ figures that works out for the both of them, as he won’t have actual murder on his hands now. She’s back at the Chateau in short order and planning the first of her world travels. 

“Africa sounds like it’ll be cool,” JJ says, making sure his tone doesn’t reflect any sadness. He can see it now. Him sending her off at the airport. Her texting and calling with all of her amazing adventures. Them… being them, but with an ocean blocking their interactions.

“Do you wanna come?”

“What?”

No way, he thinks, no fucking way did she just ask me that. This is her dream, what she’s been wanting to do since the day he met her. And she wants him there too? 

(Again, later, he’ll figure out that he’s part of the dream now. He’ll understand that she wants him to do what he wants, but that she also wants him to be with her. It’s a good thing they both want to be together and in the same place, then.)

“Do you want to come?” Kiara repeats, slower this time, not missing a single syllable. JJ lets it all soak in, what she’s asking. He’s got the money for it, and the opportunity to get off The Cut and see the world outside of the OBX is tantalizing. He doesn’t need to hear it for a third time, or ask her again — he can tell by the set of her shoulders, the way her chin is tilted up and how the hope glimmers in her eyes that she’s sure.

“Hell yeah I wanna come,” he replies, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen her smile wider. She’s talking about packing and planning and everything she wants to see, but all he can think about is how it’s happening. They’re getting out of the Outer Banks. After that, who the hell knows. He doesn’t give a fuck about it, either. The After’s what he’s here for, and by the looks of it, they’re about to put fairytales to shame. As they should, of course. JJ doesn’t need the big, cliché, picture perfect ending. That’s never been him, and it will never be him. 

JJ can’t seem to let people go. And he will gladly hold onto Kiara for as long as she lets him. He’s good with what he’s got going on here with Kie, and it’s what he’s always wanted to have, wanted to be. 

Enough. 

Being with her, talking about something he’s never really had before, _a future,_ it’s enough. Enough for now, and maybe for however long this lasts. 


End file.
